When I was in high school, I had this note book and it was filled with pages and pages of quotes.
Some were famous quotes by famous people.
Some were some infamous quotes by un-famous friends.
Some were random sayings that I saw in random places.

I loved collecting these snippets of thoughts.
I used to occasionally go back and flip through the pages of that notebook and smile.
(Somehow that book got lost in our last move.  So sad.)

Often when I read a blog post, there is one phrase that sticks out.
One phrase that I hold on to, savor, relish.
One phrase that puzzles me or piques my curiosity.
One phrase, for one reason or another, I love.

And so my plan is to save these little phrases up each week and share some of my favorites with you on Friday.

First Favorite Phrase Friday

…what’s mine is yours when yours is lost…

Be you. | Without apology | and with a smile.

But as I read the my kids reports I wondered what it would be like if instead of only feeling like I was being graded as a mother, I actually was.

You wouldn’t think that something that big could sneak up on you, but there it is.  And we keep driving because we have no other choice.

Sometimes I think it was easier to write a blog post before I knew anyone was reading. When I was just standing at the top of some virtual mountain shouting into the air around me…

we revolve around the sun | but only so many times | and we only remember | so many of them

They are my big girls but they are also little people. Little people who won’t be little for long…
They might not remember this rain-soaked night or this stage of their lives, but I will remember for them…
And I will say to them, “It wasn’t really a big deal but also it was.”

There were more forms to fill out.  Occupation, Mother’s maiden name (my maiden name, not my mother‘s maiden name because *I* am the parent now), emergency contacts, preferred hospital.

I am not a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints,
But today I had the opportunity to visit the newly renovated temple in Atlanta.
It is only open to the public for these two weeks before a dedicatory prayer is said.
There was much to see(no pictures allowed inside the temple) and there is much to say.
But, for now at least, I want to write about my favorite part while it is still in that brilliant part of memory.
(You know the part before time fades it and you lose all the tiny details?)

I never expected to be moved to tears,
But there’s something about God that is so big and so bright and so brilliant
That, even when you are outside your own religion and beliefs and understandings,
You feel “it” –
That indescribable feeling,
A warmth in the center of your being
That connects with your Creator
And you know, you know that God is Love.
And all the other stuff is icing.

Standing in the Celestial Room, the holy of holies in the Temple, I marveled at the elegance and beauty around me.
The gorgeous multi-tiered chandelier glistening and shooting light around the room.
The over-sized mirrors on either side of the room, facing each other, showing a pathway to infinity.
The details in the carpet echoing the details etched in the glass doors echoing the details in the stained glass.
(Even found on the door plates.)
The white of purity.
The gold of heaven.
The green of new life, renewal.
The symbolism not lost on me.

We were asked to be silent.
And yet a little child no more than 2 babbled on.
Shushed by her mother, her grandmother
She could not be persuaded to be quiet.
She, in the holy of holies, would not be silent.
She, in the holy of holies, spoke unabashedly, giggled even.
And I thought “What better sound to hear than the sound of a child?”
And I got misty-eyed.

Oh, how I pray that in the presence of God, there will be the sound of children.
What would forever be without that sound?

It’s no surprise that with 6 people in the house our laundry gets backed up.
But usually we keep it barely somewhat fairly under control.
Every now and then I’ll make a statement to Marshall that sounds something like this:
“Just leave it for tonight.  I promise I’ll get it done tomorrow.”
(Because, see?  Laundry piled everywhere drives him nuts.
I, however, just find it more convenient to wear clothes out of a slightly undirty clean pile.)

I don’t know why I still say that.
I know better than to say that!
Because every time I do, something happens.

And today?  Today it was a bird that got me distracted.
Not just any bird, but a bird who got stuck in my kitchen!

It’s a gorgeous day here and I was working on few clothing stains.
(There are so many ways to get out stains!  I had no idea!)
I had applied a paste I made and had the items on the patio table to get some sun.
(Side note:  It worked!!)
Asa was playing happily on the porch.
Even the dogs were content to lounge in the sun.

I left the door open so that Asa and the dogs could come in an out.
And the next thing I know there’s a bird zooming around my kitchen.
I didn’t even see it come in, but she surely made her presence known once she was there!
Flying around in circles while pooping.
Calling out to her true love who was outside calling back to her.

And like any good blogger, I grabbed my camera.
And then I called for help.

I called Marshall; he still had several patients to see before lunch.
I called my dad; he was on the road headed the opposite direction of my house.
I called my friend; she didn’t answer.

Well, crap!
What do I do now?

My friend called back and a few minutes later I get this text from her:
bird rescue team on the way. we have a pool net and a bat.

(Man, I love her!)

While she and her daughter were on the way, I watched and tried to take pictures.
You’ll notice that they’re all a little fuzzy.
Yeah, apparently birds scare me so much that I can’t stop my hands from shaking.

But you’d be pretty shaky, too, if a bird  came at you like this:

He flitted and flew all over my kitchen while I was waiting on reinforcements to arrive.
Apparently birds are nervous poopers.
Who knew?

(I have a lot of cleaning up to do.
Because it was IN MY KITCHEN.
And EEEEWWWW gross!)

(P.S. Marsh, can we go out to dinner tonight because I’m pretty sure I won’t have it disinfected in time to cook.)

By the time they got here, he’d settled into a spot
And I’m convinced that he was plotting my demise.
I mean look at how he was glaring at me.

And look at those claws!

I narrowly escaped death by bird, I tell you.
When C & her daughter ran my doorbell, I nearly jumped out of my skin.

They came in.
C had her pool net.
Her daughter had a bat.
And I ran in the yard and got one of the toy butterfly nets.

We opened up all the windows and doors.
C chased at him with the pool net.
I hopped up on a chair and tried to catch him when he flew away from her net.

And, by luck alone, I swung and swooped him into my net.
(If you’ve ever seen me play soft ball, you know it really was pure luck.)

I jumped out of the chair and started towards the door and then I froze.
I was trying to say “Grab the camera!” but I honest-to-goodness could not formulate words.

“Take him out!  Go out!” they were yelling.

I rushed him out and shook the net a few times and guess what?
He didn’t fly away.
I was all “Oh great!  I killed him!”
But I apparently only stunned him.

He perked up and started trying to fly away,
but I’d swooped him up with such force that his beak was stuck in the mesh of the net.

He struggled.
I shook.
He struggled some more.
I shook harder.

And finally he broke free and flitted off.

So, Marshall…I’m sorry I didn’t get the laundry done.
I was trying not to get killed by a bird.

And I may have also been a little distracted by this:

and this:

(Dang, they’re cute.)

I was on iTunes making a playlist… and I thought to myself, how many bands are there? How many bands does the world need?

Yikes.  That’s the wrong question, the worst ever, most art-killing question there is.  So much of life, really, comes down to asking the wrong questions.  This is the thing about art: it’s not about market demand.  It’s not like trying to figure out if this town needs another grocery store or dry cleaner.  It’s more like a million voices all yelling out one word over and over and over, and every once in a while the sound makes the whole world sit up straight and pay attention for a split second.

The world doesn’t need another band, per se.  It doesn’t, strictly speaking, need another book or another photograph or another album.  The general world population will survive without one more stage production and one more gallery showing.

This is the thing, though: you might not.  We create because we were made to create, having been made in the image of God, whose first role was Creator.  He was and is a million different things, but in the beginning, he was a creator.  That means something for us, I think.  We were made to be the things that he is: forgivers, redeemers, second chance-givers, truth-tellers, hope-bringers.  And were certainly, absolutely, made to be creators.

If you were made to create, you won’t feel whole and healthy and alive until you do.

– Shauna Niequist, Bittersweet

So what is your passion?
What were you created to create?
What makes you feel whole and healthy and alive?